


Who Are You Really?

by whenshewrites



Series: A Collection of One-Shots and Tumblr Prompts [33]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, BAMF Derek Hale, Blatant Use of Other Character Names, Denial of Feelings, Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale is a Softie, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Journalist Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Mobster Derek Hale, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, One Shot, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Secret Relationship, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:21:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25463143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites
Summary: “If he doesn’t accept your real face, then he’s not worth it.”From where Derek stood, he was pretty sure that was a lie. Stiles was Stiles. Stiles was always worth it. But Derek had made a promise. He’d never harm a hair on the boy’s head.No matter what.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: A Collection of One-Shots and Tumblr Prompts [33]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956889
Comments: 13
Kudos: 269





	Who Are You Really?

Stiles thought this was some kind of Mr. and Mrs. Smith with a twist. 

Derek thought that was dumb.

It went on for years.

-

Small-time writer Stiles’s ass.

-

The kid was onto them.

That’s what Peter said, at least, when he came back with news on the Argents. One of the kids they’d recently recruited as an investigative journalist— something Stilinski— was onto them. Not the werewolf part or the Hale part, but the part regarding where they were located, what they did, and where most of their transactions took place.

The kid was smart, he said. And it was only a matter of time before he put two and two together.

So the kid had to go.

Derek didn’t like it, but his uncle was adamant about that decision. Stiles— that was his name— had a reputation for figuring out things that most people couldn’t. In the game of chess, he was the queen and they couldn’t afford to let him stay on the board.

His father worked with the law. He’d been recruited by the Argents under their ‘publishing’ guise. It was only a matter of time before Stiles figured other things out and Derek, along with the rest of his pack, would face the consequences for that.

Derek didn’t like either of those options. Ultimately, that’s what made up his mind. The kid had to be dealt with. But Derek didn’t like getting his hands dirty with innocents. So he changed the game and took the Stilinski kid on himself.

Things didn’t go as expected.

As usual.

-

The thing about Derek Hale was that nobody messed with him. The man was a terror that people feared to even look at. He was calm, quiet, and when he got upset, people claimed the blood-red of all those he’d ever killed would enter his eyes

Of course, Stiles didn’t know this, because the Derek Hale that he knew was a Boyce Fox. The eyebrowed dorky idiot who wore glasses and pretended to hate chocolate. He knew Boyce as the elusive ‘small-time writer’ a big brain and, when he felt like it, a bigger smile.

And Stiles thought he could’ve been well off thinking this for the rest of his life.

Stiles had been chasing after the Alpha for months now. The malicious and bloody head of the Hale mob that Stiles had taken an interest in when he first became an investigative journalist. 

One day, he was going to take him down. Stiles was determined.

One day came a little sooner than he’d expected.

-

Stiles was pretty sure he’d finally narrowed down where the trades were happening. The Hales were notorious for their dealings with ‘Wolfsbane’, the newest drug to hit the market. They decided what took to the streets, how, and when. Stiles’s dad in law enforcement said they had yet to catch a dealer alive. 

Rumors said they’d rather take themselves out then turn the tables on the Hale Pack.

Stiles hadn’t planned on moving to New York and chasing his tail after drug lords and mobsters. Growing up, he used to think he’d be a cop— and maybe a Sheriff, later on— like his dad. But then he realized the system was rigged and a load of horseshit and he turned heel to get as far away from Beacon Hills as he could.

New York was in no way an escape from all of that. But Stiles was determined to do what he could to scrape out the twisted and corrupt before he eventually bit the bullet.

Which in his dealings, would probably be sooner rather than later.

Plus, Stiles was a constant mess.

When he found himself on the docks that night, chasing a lead that he was pretty sure only had a fifty percent chance of being true, Stiles realized his time might come a little sooner than he’d expected. That was the last thought he’d had at last, at least, before there was something covering his mouth, a hand dragging him back, and then all he knew was darkness.

Yeah, Stiles was a mess. But not just because he literally walked into getting himself kidnapped.

Because of Boyce. The giant asshole.

Stiles woke up when he was literally manhandled out of a car. There was a hood over his head and his hands were bound behind his back, so it wasn’t like he was going anywhere except where he was guided. But his mouth was free so he still let out a litany of curses, much to the laughter of whoever was dragging him around.

There were stairs, which Stiles was practically carried down. Apparently his captors were terrifyingly strong and that was terrifying in itself. Though he really shouldn’t have expected any less from those who had taken him— and he had a feeling he knew who they were.

Stiles’s thoughts were only confirmed when he was dropped in a chair, his hood ripped off, and then a curly-haired boy smirked at him, readjusting his bonds. Stiles was still too out of it to realize much. And then he was left alone.

Stiles had been left in a basement.

See, he didn’t remember much getting kidnapped. But he wasn’t that surprised.

The last thing Stiles could recall were eyes glowing golden in the night and then something was covering his nose, the smell of chemicals making his head spin and senses shut off. The hand dragging him back. The quiet growling in his ear. He was pretty sure the drug had made him both see and hear things.

“Dammit,” Stiles said. He blinked a few times and then groaned. His head hurt.

He tried to move, only to realize that his wrists were cuffed to the metal chair he’d been dropped in, panic clogging in his throat. Stiles jerked harder and the soft leather bit into his wrists, but didn’t offer any give. His ankles were the only free part of him, Stiles realized, but that wasn’t much help.

He cursed and yanked again, mostly because he was an idiot. A smarting of pain was his reward. 

Stiles finally gave up and glanced around the basement. There were dark walls all around him and a set of stairs to the side. He could see light streaming from above them, but couldn’t hear the sound of voices.

Stiles wasn’t sure whether or not that was a good thing. He dropped his chin against his chest and groaned, his mouth tasting like old socks. Whatever had been used to knock him out had been strong and he could barely think straight.

His camera… that was missing, Stiles realized. So was his wallet.

Assholes.

Then one of the stairs creaked. Stiles froze, eyes snapping toward them. And his heart stopped as he saw the figure silhouetted in the dim light. Because this was it, he was sure. This was how he left the world— probably not after some pain first.

Stiles’s dad was going to kill him.

But when the man came into sight, it took Stiles’s drugged brain a few beats to catch up. Because he realized in about two seconds that the man standing in front of him was someone he recognized. And then it took him another few moments to realize why.

Stiles would… well, yeah, Stiles could consider Boyce his boyfriend. They’d been on numerous dates and then they’d definitely gone a little further beyond that. Boyce’s work often called him away but Stiles was an avid worker too so he didn’t mind very much.

But his Boyce wore the occasional plaid, glasses, and was clean-shaven more often than not. This man had the start of morning stubble, wore a dark suit, and looked at Stiles without an expression on his impassive face.

Stiles’s heart lodged in his throat. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was still drugged.

“B… Boyce?”

“Derek.”

“Derek Hale.”

“You know me,” Derek said, stepping forward. His hands were tucked into his pockets and his steps were unguarded, but his eyes studied Stiles’s face hard. His posture was tense.

“As Boyce.”

“Only as a cover.”

Stiles stared. For a moment, all he could feel was shock. But shock turned to betray, turned to anger, and he yanked on his restrains, the metal chair moving a few inches. “You giant asshole!”

Derek’s expression didn’t change. But Stiles could’ve sworn he saw a flicker of red in them.

“You giant asshole,” Stiles said again, his voice breaking a little. “You’re him, you’re the Alpha. Aren’t you? Why… why me? What the hell did you want with _me?”_

“You work for the Argents.”

“I’m freelance.”

“You’re paid by them.”

“Once or twice.”

“You know things,” Boyce— no, Derek— said quietly, moving closer. Stiles shied back and the man abruptly stopped. “And you figure things out.”

“Like what?”

“Me,” Derek said. “My pack. My family.”

Stiles choked on a laugh. Clearly, this man was far more attached to his title then Stiles had ever assumed. And clearly, he was far madder than Stiles had ever known. “What then, _Derek?_ Did you bring me here to kill me?”

“I’m not going to kill you, Stiles.”

“Oh, so this is a peaceful kidnapping?”

“Yes.”

Stiles blinked. Then he barked a laugh, shaking his head. “My grumpy-eyebrowed dork of an innocent boyfriend is actually a killer. A mobster.”

For the first time, Derek flinched. Stiles fixed him with a dark glare.

“Don’t tell me this is some kind of forbidden love, Derek. My father’s a Sheriff. You lay a finger on my head and you know he’ll hunt you down.”

“I would never do that.”

“I trusted you.”

“I’m sorry.”

Stiles’s glare melted. And he hated himself for that, he really did. “I loved you.”

Derek lowered his gaze. The man stared at the floor for a moment, nodded once, and then turned away. Stiles watched him go as his mouth dropped open and then he yanked on his cuffs once more, chair shifting around again. 

“Hey, Derek! You asshole, get back here! I swear to god, don’t leave me down here!”

But Derek did. And soon, Stiles was left in the dark silence again.

He hated everything sometimes.

-

Derek ran a hand through his hair as he paced back and forth, growling softly. The last thing he should be doing was losing his calm right now, but he couldn’t help it. Stiles was sitting in his basement right now, bright-eyed and spiteful, and Derek couldn’t concentrate on anything else.

The boy’s scent was overwhelming. Derek could hear his heartbeat like it was only inches away, even though he was three floors down.

Derek couldn’t do this. He couldn’t hurt Stiles.

But then he was putting his family at risk.

There was a knock on the door and Derek came to a complete stop, red eyes glaring at whoever dared enter. But Erica only smirked, raising an eyebrow, and sashayed into the room.

“So, did you tell him?”

“Which part.”

“I could make a list,” Erica said, glancing down at her nails. “Mob boss, not a drug dealer, only kind of a movie-worthy villain. Werewolf?”

Derek glared at her. The woman only smirked.

“You didn’t.”

“He hates me.”

“Which is to be expected. I mean, the only reason you got close was to try and convince your uncle he wasn’t a necessary threat to take out. But that didn’t go to plan, did it?”

Derek snarled, flashing his eyes again. Erica rolled her eyes. 

“Go back downstairs and talk to him.”

“No.”

“You love him, don’t you?”

Derek folded his arms over his chest and didn’t answer. Erica sighed, the smirk slipping from her lips as her face softened. 

“If he doesn’t accept you for your real face, Derek, he’s not worth it.”

“I’m telling Boyd you’ve gotten soft.”

“Do that and I’ll cut your throat out in your sleep.”

“Threatening your superior is forbidden.”

“Come at me, Hale.”

Derek fixed her with a flat look but Erica only smirked again. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she moved back out of the room. Derek watched her leave. Then he growled and returned to pacing, still listening to Stiles’ heartbeats three floors down. They were a little louder now. Moving a little faster.

He cursed.

Something was wrong

-

Stiles was a freaking badass, he decided. Or at least, once he’d wiggled out of the leather cuffs and made it out of the Hale Pack basement, he decided on that. He didn’t know where the hell he was but it seemed like Derek owned an entire building.

Of course. Small-time writer Stiles’s ass. 

He was downright pissed.

Stiles was a freak badass. And he needed his cameras and a little bit of proof. He was going to show this dreaded Alpha the time of his life when Stiles dragged him through every newspaper and media outlet out there.

He was pretty sure he got a little lost. 

He made it up the stairs, down a winding of corridors, and tried to remember how to retrace his steps. He could probably just get a few shots of the building. Maybe one or two of the basement if he could find his way back. But Stiles wasn’t sticking around long enough to run into Derek again.

He was pretty sure the universe was against him.

Stiles wandered into one unfamiliar room and messed around before grabbing the first weapon he could find; a wonderfully sharp candlestick. Not like it’d probably do much good against a knife or a gun, but he’d rather have something.

When Stiles came back out of the room, Derek was waiting for him with crossed arms.

Stiles yelped and floundered back so hard, he went stumbling right back into the bedroom. His heart leaped into his throat and he slammed it closed, quickly turning the lock. On the other side, Derek growled.

“Stiles, open the door.”

“No!”

“Stiles, let me in, now.”

“Dude, you’re going to flay me alive or something! Oh my god, do you guys actually do that? I heard you used to go around tearing the enemy’s throats out. Are you going to tear my throat out?”

“If you don’t come out right now, I might be tempted.”

“No!”

He could’ve sworn he heard Derek growl and that didn’t help the situation any. Stiles gripped his candlestick tighter and turned around, retreating away from the door. He paused for a moment, waiting for the inevitable, and then the air filled with the sound of cracking.

But Stiles had not expected the beast that came through the broken door.

Apparently, he knew three Derek’s now. One with a fake name, fake glasses, and a fake job. One who wore suits, had stubble, and made empty promises. And one with blazing red eyes, no eyebrows, and the most terrifying face Stiles had ever seen.

He might have squeaked in a very unmanly manner as he stumbled back, candlestick dropping to the floor. Derek glared at him, actual fangs poking his lower lip, and then his face slowly shifted back.

Stiles just stared. Because this couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be.

He was still drugged or dreaming. Maybe he’d never returned to consciousness at all. Or maybe the people who’d knocked him out had just dumped him off the edge of the docks and Stiles was currently dead.

“You’re not dead,” Derek grumbled. Stiles startled as he realized he’d been talking out loud.

“Dude,” he said. “Dude, your eyebrows.”

“Seriously, Stiles?”

“Dude, your face. Your teeth. Your _eyes.”_

Derek winced. For a moment, the man avoided his gaze. Then he wet his lips and shrugged. “So there was more than one secret I was keeping from you.”

“The rumors of the blood-red eyes,” Stiles said quietly. “They are true.”

Derek didn’t answer. Stiles blinked at him.

“Are you a superhero?”

“What.”

Stiles shook his head. “No, that wouldn’t add up. The Hale Pack, the drugs, the shifting. Wolfsbane. Not drugs. Oh my god, you giant asshole! You’re a furry!”

Derek glared, a bit of red flickering into his eyes. Stiles yelped.

“You really do rip throats out!”

“I haven’t done anything,” Derek said in a growl. “Except attempt to make up for my uncles’s mistakes and intercept the occasional delivery of wolfsbane being sent to the Argents.”

“The… wait, what?”

“The same ones who hired you.”

“The Argents,” Stiles said. “Are werewolves too?”

“Hunters.”

“Oh my god, I’ve totally entered a feud.”

Derek glowered but didn’t say a word to counteract that. Stiles lifted his hands into the air and retreated around the man, backing toward the door as he shook his head. 

“Nope, nope, nope. I don’t want any part of this. I shall be going back to my blissful lack of knowledge, thank you very much. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go get my dad, pretending this never happened, and we’re going to be leaving the country.”

Derek caught his wrist before he could escape. Stiles’s heart leaped all the way up into his throat.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Never, Stiles.”

“Then let go, Derek.”

The man didn’t move for a moment. His grip was trembling slightly, Stiles noticed. His grip moved down Stiles’s arm until long, calloused fingers gently threaded through his own and Stiles resisted the urge to shiver.

“Derek--”

“You never told me that before,” Derek said softly. “That you loved me.”

Stiles swallowed hard. The man almost seemed to whine.

“Until down there.”

“I was waiting for the right time.”

“Was that it?”

“Clearly not,” Stiles said. “But to be fair, I never expected to be kidnapped by the Hale mob and be shown the terrible truth about werewolves.”

Derek flinched. His grip on Stiles’s hand loosened and if he wanted, Stiles was pretty sure he could pull loose. Maybe he’d hit the man and make a run for it. That might gain him five or ten seconds or so. Judging by the fact that he didn’t run into any other… oh god. Werewolves.

“I trusted you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re not a superhero, Derek.” 

“I know.”

“Will you let me go?”

The man’s hand dropped completely. His jaw clenched tightly and for a moment, he didn’t move. But then he nodded once, stepping back, and Stiles shivered again.

This time, he was pretty sure it was for a completely different reason.

But he didn’t want to become another body.

Stiles hesitated for a long moment. Then he swallowed hard and walked out the door, still waiting for the ball to drop. Still waiting for Derek to stop him or maybe take him down right there. But the man didn’t move. And when Stiles risked a small glance back, he was looking at a blank face again.

Derek Hale. The man with blood in his eyes. No emotion in his expression and Stiles could see why people would avoid his gaze. This wasn’t the Derek that Stiles had known.

It never had been.

When he turned away this time, he didn’t look back.

-

_“If he doesn’t accept your real face, then he’s not worth it.”_

And from where Derek stood, he was pretty sure that had been a lie. Stiles was Stiles. Stiles was always worth it. But Derek had made a promise. He’d never harm a hair on the boy’s head.

Things never went as expected.

But this one had.

-

Stiles didn’t leave New York.

-

One day, a man named Miguel showed up in front of his apartment. One wearing Derek’s face, a scared expression, and the ugliest shirt Stiles had ever seen.

Stiles was good at pretending.

-

Small-time writer his ass.

-

Stiles was still onto them, but Derek liked a little bit of challenge. One day, Stiles was going to take them down. That’s what he claimed at least. He never actual did.

Derek changed his name three more times.

-

Stiles got kidnapped four more times. For kicks.

Also, he was pretty sure at one point, he was dating Clark Kent.

-

Things never went as expected.

-

Stiles thought this was some kind of Mr. and Mrs. Smith with a twist. 

Derek thought that was dumb.

-

It went on for years.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Tumblr request prompt of 'finding out boyfriend/girlfriend is a mobster' and I... have mixed feelings about this one. Granted, it's four in the morning and I just wanted to get it finished. I'd love to hear your guys's thoughts! This might get a rewrite one day. Or maybe be extended into an actual verse. We'll see!
> 
> Come hang with me on Tumblr?
> 
> [the dumpster](https://when-she-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/)


End file.
